


Hammered

by MrsJohnSmith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff, Hangover, Light Angst, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7002292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnSmith/pseuds/MrsJohnSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester takes care of you after you've had a few too many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Saaaaamm. Sammy.” You whined as the gentle giant pushed his arms under you, easily scooping you up.

“No, no whining. Just bed.” He smiled down into your eyes, clouded over by countless drinks.

The swaying feeling along with the spinning in your head was kind of fun and you laughed to yourself.

“What?” He paused a moment to open your door.

You giggled again. “This a fun…fun ride, Sammy.” It took a few more seconds than you thought it should, but you got your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Sorry, sweetheart, ride’s over. We’re here.” He laid you down gently on the bed, but your arms were still firmly around his neck.

In this new position, the spinning felt, well, not fun. Not fun at all. “Bad spins, here. Not good.”

“Ok, how about we sit you up a little, huh?” With you still attached to him, he pulled back, intending to get a few more pillows behind you, but you had other plans. You ended up sitting next to him on the side of the bed, clumsily pulling your legs out from behind him to dangle over the edge beside his.

“Can’t Cas boop this? Like just boop.” You tried tapping Sam on the forehead with a couple fingers, and that’s sort of what happened. Your body wasn’t listening to you very well. "Done with it now.“

"Done with being drunk or done with what happened today?” Sam’s face was filled with patience and concern and it just about broke your heart. Well, broke it more. Broke it into even smaller pieces.

You stared at him awhile, trying to focus your eyes and your mind. It wasn’t quite happening. “Both.” All the feelings you had tried to chase away were coming back even stronger. You pulled up your leg to rip your boot off and threw it into the wall. “She was twelve. Twelve!”

When you had trouble with the other one, Sam put a hand over yours. “It’s not fair and it’s not right. But we did the best we could.”

You squirmed out from under his hand. “Not the best! No, we…” Managing to finally pull off your boot, you sent it flying into the wall like the other one. “If only - we could’ve -” All the rage within you was being pulled down, drowned again by the alcohol. You slumped into Sam. Warm, comforting, Sam. “M'tired.”

He pulled you into him, those massive hands of his sliding over your arms in an attempt to soothe you. “It’ll be all right.” He whispered.

You felt like you should be embarrassed about your little breakdown, and maybe if it’d been Dean here instead of Sam, you’d be feeling it. But you didn’t feel as vulnerable with your walls down around Sam like you did everyone else. “I know.” You sniffed. “S'like I know, but doesn’t feel that way.” That’s how you were in your current predicament, trying to speed the process along with a little alcohol. A lot of alcohol. All the alcohol.

After a few quiet moments, Sam spoke up. “How about I get you some Gatorade, ok?” He pulled away slowly, making sure you’d remain upright on your own.

His hazel eyes were somewhere, but either they were moving too much or your eyelids were malfunctioning. You nodded clumsily in his direction. “Yup.”

“Back in a minute.” He moved off the bed, watching you sway for a second before hurrying off to the kitchen.

Your hands wandered aimlessly as you waited, a laugh bubbling up. Man, you were hammered. Sighing, you realized you were on your bed, but not in your bed and that you should probably get comfy so you could sleep.

After a few tries, you popped the button on your jeans and managed to pull down the zipper. For some reason, your eyes caught sight of your pj bottoms on your dresser and you thought you could kill two birds with one stone. You stood expecting your jeans to fall and to be able to grab your pjs. Next thing you knew, you were cheek to cheek with the carpet.

“Yeah, ok.” You sighed and tried to get your mind to come up with a plan B.

“Whoa, what happened?” Sam was caught between looking and not looking at you half out of your jeans on the floor. He took a couple steps towards you placing a Gatorade bottle and a few pills on your dresser.

“Look at these ships, Sammy!” His boots were right near your head.

“Uh, my shoes?” He fought back a laugh. He’d always found you adorable, but you were even cuter drunk.

With a giggle, your hand smacked the top of one of them for emphasis. “Ships! That’s how big they are, ships! Look at em!”

“I look at them every day.” He crouched down next you, and for the second time that night prepared to pick you up. “Let’s get you back up on the bed.”

You grinned up at him. “Thank you. You’re the best, you know that?” Soon he had gotten you back to the edge of the bed and was grabbing the Gatorade and pills for you, his tanned forearms flexing deliciously.

He ignored your words and the ache in his chest in favor of getting you a little more hydrated and medicated. “You won’t feel as bad tomorrow, come on.”

After downing the pills and half the bottle, you definitely felt a little better, but what would really help was sleep. You flung your legs up and down attempting to free them from your jeans. “Little more help, please?”

“Uhh..” He stood there frozen, unsure if he should really be helping you out of your clothes in the state you were in. Not that he hadn’t thought of it a few times, more than a few times. He just didn’t want to add embarrassment to tomorrow’s inevitable hangover.

You groaned in frustration. “I swear, Sam. Come on, please?”

He sprung into action, swiftly pulling them off and then tucking you under the covers of your bed, trying to be as gentlemanly as possible. “There, good?”

You snuggled in on your side facing him, a dopey smile spreading on your face. “Almost perfect.”

“What else do you need?” He couldn’t help but tuck away some of the hair that had fallen into your face and he tried to convince himself that it was his imagination telling him how you leaned into his touch.

Suddenly more sober than you were before, you swept a hand out behind you. “Stay with me awhile? Until I fall asleep at least?”

He pursed his lips, thinking it over.

“Or stay until morning, if y'want.” You tried giving him a dose of his own puppy-eyed medicine.

“Sure.” He moved around to the other side of the bed and toed off his boots.

You felt the covers lift a little too soon and peeked back to see him still clothed in all his layers. “Dude, you can’t be comfy like that.”

“It’s fine.” It came out a little more pinched than he expected.

“I’ll turn back around if you’re shy. ‘Sides, my vision isn’t what is usually is anyways.” You snuggled back down, holding your breath. The telltale sounds of clothes hitting the floor and the covers lifting up got you breathing again, although it was a bit heavier.

You reached behind you to pull him to you. “Cuddles, yeah?”

“Yeah” he whispered as he bent himself around you, an arm snaking around your torso. It was his turn to hold his breath.

Even through his shirt and boxer briefs you could feel the heat radiating off of him, soothing you. You wriggled back a little, but stopped when he tensed. “S'ok, Sam.” You patted his large hand draped over you and then laced your fingers through his. He seemed to relax into you as your fingers wound together. “S'perfect, Sam. You’re perfect.” You mumbled as sleep began to claim you.

“Yeah, perfect.” Sam agreed, hoping you’d feel the same way come morning. Maybe he could finally tell you what he’d been holding back all this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for awkward :-)

It was always the same. Your body never let you sleep through your hangover. Ever. A few hours after falling asleep, you’d be wide awake and hating life. This morning was no exception.

What was different, however, was that you were curled into Sam Winchester.

Your mind raced back, trying to figure out how you ended up with your head on his chest and his arms wrapped around you. You could swear the pounding in both your head and chest would wake him at any second. Both of you were wearing shirts, but you had to peek down into the covers to check for more clothes before figuring out your next move.

Ok. Not naked. That was good, right? Maybe?

Coffee. You needed coffee to get your brain in gear. Ever so slowly, you attempted to move out from under him, praying he’d stay sleeping. Just a few more minutes to figure out what the hell happened last night before having to face him.

“Hey.” Shit. He was awake. You froze like the little scared bunny you were as he pulled back to stretch as if nothing was peculiar about the situation at all. “How’s your head?”

“Yeah, no…fine, it’s fine.” Pants. Pants would be good. Definitely not staring at his bed head. Nope. You spotted your pj bottoms and snatched them up, shooting your legs through them and jumping up to get them on the rest of the way. Bad idea. Your hand shot out to steady yourself on the dresser.

“You ok?” Sam sat up, eyeing you carefully.

You waved him off as a memory from last night hit you - falling onto the carpet, half undressed, spouting nonsense. “Coffee. Need coffee, Sam.”

He nodded at you before searching around for his jeans and your eyes rolled up to the ceiling until you heard the zipper and knew it was safe to look. You made your way down the halls of the bunker with Sam beside you, one of his giant hands warming the small of your back.

“Hey, you crazy kids.” Dean greeted you as you entered the kitchen, shit eating grin on his face.

“Sit down. I’ll get it.” Sam’s lips tugged up at the corners.

You joined Dean at the table, still giving you that face. “What?” You snapped.

“All this time, Y/N, and you’ve been lying to us.” He took a sip of his coffee, waiting for your reaction.

“Have I?” You propped your elbow up on the table and held your pounding head up with your hand. You knew he was going somewhere with this, somewhere embarrassing, but you didn’t have the strength to fight it.

“Oh, yeah. Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?”

You scoffed. “Girl’s gotta have secrets.”

“Think you have any left? Also didn’t know you could dance.” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat all cocky. He knew he had you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dean.” Sam set your mug down and took a seat next to you.

“Talking ‘bout your sweet stripper moves. Practically gave Sammy a lap dance.”

Your face was on fire as you looked wide-eyed back and forth between the brothers. Dean was still grinning like an idiot, ignoring the death glare from his brother.

“Shame I didn’t get one though.” He winked at you.

“That’s enough, Dean.” Sam’s tone left no room for argument. Dean conceded, hands up in surrender, before taking his mug over to the sink and strutting out of the room.

Bad. This was so bad. Bits and pieces of the night before flew through your head. Had you really? Yes, yes you had. You were feeling so good as you sang along to the music. Neither brother had wanted to dance, but that didn’t stop you. It was all innocent until Pour Some Sugar on Me. In your defense, that track could turn anyone into a stripper. Thankfully you hadn’t taken off everything. Just flashed them a little. Danced in front of Sam. And now you wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Sorry.” He finally looked back to you; he was blushing too. “It wasn’t as bad as he makes it sound.”

“Sam…” You sighed. “My memory’s still a little fuzzy, but I know it’s exactly as bad as he made it out to be.”

Awkward silence descended on both of you. You tried to take steadying breaths between sips of coffee, watching out of your peripheral vision as Sam toyed with his mug. What were you supposed to say? Do? Oh, that’s right. Get back to shoving down your feelings for him. Find your way back to “normal” somehow.

And then Pour Some Sugar on Me blasted through the bunker.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Sam rose to leave, but you gripped on to his forearm.

“Just… Leave it. It’s fine.” A ghost of a smile stretched your lips.

“No, it’s not. Not after…” He sank back down anyways. “It was a rough day. He should cut you some slack.”

You held his gaze for a bit, until the overwhelming urge to kiss away the crease in his brow hit you and you returned to your coffee.

“Y/N, I…” He was still looking at you, his features softened. Something in the air had changed.

You couldn’t do this, whatever this was, right now. “It’s fine, Sam. I’m gonna shower.” Your words were as quick as your feet, bailing before he could speak again.

From the bathroom you could still hear Dean’s music, some sort of stripper mix probably as Cherry Pie played next. Ass. You tried to relax and wash away the past 24 hours even as snippets of memories played out in your mind’s eye.

The music cut off suddenly, replaced by harsh words you couldn’t quite make out. They were fighting. Sam was probably calling out Dean for being such a dick. You could handle your own issues, but you couldn’t help the warm fuzzies from having someone so solidly in your corner.

Your stomach grumbled loudly as you threw on a clean set of pjs. Food sounded awful, but you knew you’d feel even worse if you didn’t eat.

Shuffling towards the kitchen brought you past Dean’s room and as you approached you realized the argument hadn’t stopped, just gotten quieter. You paused, wondering if you should listen or keep moving.

The door opened suddenly and Sam stopped himself just before bowling you over, panic all over his face. “Y/N? Sorry, what are…”

“Breakfast.” You blurted. Thank god your reflexes were coming back. “Was gonna make some eggs, pancakes maybe. Did you guys want some?” You watched as Sam’s panic turned to relief, though Dean’s somber look never changed.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Want some help?” With less than his usual graceful style, he joined you in the hallway, smoothing his hair though it didn’t need it.

“Already had cereal, thanks.” Dean gave some sort of meaningful look to Sam, the sort that usually had you rolling your eyes and pestering one of them for a translation. You decided you didn’t want to know this time.

“You look a little better.” Sam gestured at his eyes as he walked alongside you.

“Yeah, I was, uh, pretty out of it earlier.”

Once you had split up cooking duties, you both found yourselves falling into the quiet and easy rhythm you had whenever you worked together on anything. For you, at least, the tension seemed to recede while Sam was still on edge.

Seated at the kitchen table with your plates piled with food, you couldn’t take it anymore. “All right. What is it?”

“What’s what?” He cut away at his pancakes with the side of his fork.

“Don’t what’s what me. Something’s under your skin.”

A nudge of your knee into his got him speaking again. “Do you ever wish…I mean, even with the life we have-” He huffed in frustration. It wasn’t often Sam couldn’t control his words.

You waited as patiently as possible, somehow hoping this was and wasn’t going where you thought.

“I know our lives are never gonna be normal. We’re not cut out for white picket fences and mowing the lawn on Saturdays. But we’ve fought fate and destiny enough times that I think we could write our own rules. You ever think that there’s more?” He went back to his pancakes, tearing off a healthy chunk.

You went back to your own plate, turning over what he had said. When you’d swallowed the last of your eggs, you responded. “What’s the more you’re after, that’s eluding you?”

“Someone I can share everything with.” He pushed his pancakes around.

“You know growing up, all my friends talked about their wedding day at some point. Their colors, or how many bridesmaids. They’d talk about how many kids they’d want. What they’d name them. I think even back then I knew that wasn’t in the cards for me.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, sadness adding yet another shade to his hazel eyes. “Never mind what is or isn’t supposed to be. What do you want?”

It was always easier to deny what you wanted and needed, rather than face the fact you were without. “You done?” You grabbed up the plates and went into dish duty, yesterday’s and this morning’s piled in the sink too high for your liking. Attacking the plates like they were a vamp or ghoul, you didn’t hear Sam move to stand next to you.

“Why don’t you want to talk about this?” He spoke just above the clanking of the dishes and when you didn’t respond, he stilled your hands with his own, a fire spreading out from under them and coming to rest in your cheeks.

“What _are_ we talking about, Sam?”

“Y/N?” He waited until you could raise your eyes to his. “I’d like to try something more…with you.”


End file.
